Just Like Him
by M.P. Whitman
Summary: Moira Lancer appears normal on the surface. But when a strange, dangerous man takes her past into his own hands, throwing her life into chaos, can she maintain the relationship and love she's built with Bruce Wayne?RE-WRITTEN FIRST CHAPTER UP!bruce/oc/jok
1. Prologue

**This is the re-written chapter!  
**

**A/N: OK, so I've never written a Batman/Dark Knight fanfic before, and it's been ages since I've written anything so I'm sorry if this blows. Haha. Please read and review. If you feel the need to flame, you can just give me something constructive instead of negative.  
**

_And in my best behavior_

_I am really just like him._

_Look beneath the floor boards,_

_For the secrets I have hid._

"_John Wayne Gacy, Jr". –Sufjan Stevens_

**-Prologue-**

I can remember the smell. It was a strange, salty, slightly sweet smell.  
Everything around me was soft. The floor was soft, the walls, and most likely the roof too. But I couldn't see the roof. It was too dark in here. And I couldn't touch the walls, or feel the floor with my fingertips.

There was nothing for me to touch, because I couldn't move my hands.

I could see shadows, however. Many shadows were there. The ones that hid in the corners of my eyes, so I couldn't see them clearly as they slithered by me in the darkness. I felt my skin crawling, alive. Like there were thousands of little worms all over me, squirming.

_He_ was there, pulling at me.

I didn't know his name, or why he chose me. But he did.

Something shifted next to me. A person, a man, a banshee and a figure; it was him. His hand snaked its way onto my shoulder, pulling me to him. I struggled against him, unable to speak. Everything felt like it was in slow motion, like the final gun shot in a movie.

I thrashed against him in my jacket, in a panic. I couldn't see his face, no, I never saw his face. He was a shadow of macabre demise, all over me.

My screams were wasted, and I could feel my throat ache from them, but they remained silent. Only _his_ voice was heard now.

"Moira, Moira, Moira." He sang, stroking my cheek with one, calloused finger. I held my eyes closed tight, trying not to pay attention to the way his hands felt on my face.

"Did you really think you could rid your memories of me that easily?"

---------------------

I jerked awake, screaming out loud, sweat beaded on my forehead. Frustrated, I pulled on my hair, and then threw the fluffy duvet off me. Frantically, I looked at the clock. It was 4:15am, but I had to call him or I wouldn't get back to sleep. With shaky hands, I grabbed my phone off its cradle.

Pressing speed dial, the line began to ring. My brows were furrowed, and tears ran down my face in distress as I waited for him to answer.

"Uh…" I heard him say, sounds of fabric and things clanking on the other side, "Just one second."

I could tell he dropped the phone.

"Hello?" Bruce greeted, his voice heavy with sleep. Oh gosh, he sounded sexy right now. I smiled a little.

"Hi honey," I whispered, my voice quivering because I was still a little shook up over my bad dream.

"Moira," He breathed, "What's wrong? Is everything alright?" He suddenly sounded very alert.

I sighed heavily, putting my hand over my eyes as I flicked on the light of my nightstand. I could see the light through the slits of my fingers, and it burned a little.

"Yes, everything's okay. I just…I just needed to hear your voice." I told him, leaning back onto my pillow and pulling the blanket back onto my body. Bruce's voice always calmed me, no matter what happened.

"Did you have another bad dream?" He asked, his voice filled with concern and sympathy.

I hadn't told him what they were about. They've been happening for several weeks now, getting progressively worse. I had this convicting feeling, saying not to tell Bruce what happened in my night terrors. Saying that it wasn't for him to know, that he would think I was crazy.

"Yeah, this was the worst of them all. I don't know what to do about it" I lamented, lazily slamming my fist into the mattress.

"I'm sorry. I wish you would just tell me so maybe we could find out what's triggering them." His voice sounded slightly agitated. I know it bugged him that I felt like I couldn't trust him. I told him that wasn't the reason, but he still felt that way.

"Bruce…" I called, my voice growing smaller as I was lulled slowly back into sleep. "Speak to me. I don't care what you talk about; just help me take my mind off things for a bit."

He sighed into the phone, obviously exhausted as well. A tinge of regret ran through me, for making him stay up with me this late, or early, in this case.

"Did I ever tell you about the time when I tried to fly?" He questioned, obviously picking whatever came to his mind first.

"Only vaguely, but tell me again?" I asked, and then leaned over to shut the light off. I pulled the covers up to my neck and closed my eyes. "Please." I concentrated on Bruce's smooth voice.

"The year after my parents were killed, I had been acting strangely. Alfred came home one day, to find me out on the backyard grass, with my arm broken. I jumped from the second story window at Wayne Manor." He said with a somber chuckle, "I wasn't the smartest kid."

"Didn't sound like it" I said, jokingly. "Did you have a cape or something?"

"No" He replied, laughing. "I think I used an umbrella, actually."

I smiled. Bruce must have been a cute kid.

"Too bad Batman wasn't around then, eh?" I joked, "You could have asked to borrow his cape."

For a second the other line went silent. I thought that perhaps I had said something wrong.

"Bruce?" I called, seeing if he was still there or if I had lost the connection.

"Yeah" His voice called back, suddenly very quiet, his mind somewhere else.

"Too bad."


	2. White Faces

**A/N: Hey, sorry for the lack of updates. My life is in chaos right now, and I haven't really been inspired. My parents are in the middle of a divorce, so this is the last thing on my mind. Here is another chapter. It's just another beginning chapter before the big stuff happens. I want everyone to get a feel for the kind of relationship that Moira and Bruce have. I can't wait to get past this stuff and write about mr. you know who! :] Be sure to R&R! Thanks! **

For the past year of my life, everything I had ever dreamed of was falling into place. I lived in one of the world's greatest cities, I had a well paying job, and a lovely apartment of my own in one of the nicer districts of Gotham.

There was one thing, or person, however, that didn't fit into place.

Bruce Wayne, Gotham's own billionaire playboy, was my boyfriend. And as wonderful as he was, dating him was one of the most difficult parts of my life. Relationships aren't meant to be hidden, and I shouldn't have to sneak around to hide from the paparazzi just to go to his apartment. But I did, because I loved him.

I awoke this morning with my face pressed into my phone, which was dead. I had an awful impression of the buttons on my left cheek, and I spent a good ten minutes trying to rub them out of my face in the steaming shower. I could feel that this was going to be a long day.

I was getting ready to go meet Bruce at his penthouse for lunch. We then had to go meet our mutual friend Rachel Dawes to discuss the party we're holding for her boyfriend, Harvey Dent. Gotham's White Knight, and current savior. I didn't hold anything against him, but I didn't trust him either. He seemed to be a bit of a pushover, though he didn't show it. However, if Rachel asked him to jump, he'd jump.

Having Rachel as a friend is strange for me, knowing that Bruce and she are old flames. Sometimes when we're all together, I'll catch a glimpse of this look Bruce will give her. I don't think I hold his heart completely, and I don't think I ever will.

Grabbing a towel, I wipe the steam off my bathroom mirror and stare back at myself. Looking down to grab the lotion from the bottom cabinet, I look back up and scream, dropping the lotion bottle in the sink. For a splinter of a second, I swear on everything I know that I saw a white painted face behind me. Breathing heavily, I cover my eyes with my hand, and squeeze them shut. I really wasn't getting enough sleep, and these nightmares were killing me. Once you start seeing things, before you know it you're hearing things and then you're locked up in Arkham with the rest of Gotham's psychos.

I could just see myself trying to explain the crazy dreams I've been having. Perhaps it's better if I don't go to a doctor. Perhaps it's better if I just stop sleeping all together. I just won't tell Bruce.

-

An hour later, I stood at the door of his suite, and waited for Alfred to let me in. My foot tapped impatiently as I hit the buzzer again. I really wasn't in the mood for waiting. Not now, not today when I was running on less sleep than humanly possible. My hair was uncombed and tangled, and my eyeliner was lazily applied with light smudges under my eyes. And I didn't care, which was strange.

"Good afternoon, Miss Lancer. " Alfred greeted, holding the door open for me. He stared at me, eyes wide, and took in my current state.

"I can't sleep." I said, noticing the look he gave me. His eyes softened and he put his hand on my shoulder, guiding me into the apartment.

"I have just the thing for that," He told me, his soft voice full of concern and knowing, "I'll fix you right up."

"Thanks Alfred." I replied, and followed him into the kitchen. I put my oversized hand bag on one of the ebony bar stools, and took a seat next to it.

"Where's Bruce?" I asked, looking around the room as if he were going to appear out of thin air. Who knows, he might have the money to do that. I chuckled at my stupid thought and got lost in a vision of him as a magician; it really was a funny sight.

"What's so funny, lovely?" A voice from behind me called, mirth in its tone. I turned around to greet Bruce, falling out of my trance. He had a long sleeved deep gray button down shirt on, and black slacks. I eyed him over, my eyes tracing the muscle that lightly showed under his clothing. I smiled contently.

"Nothing. C'mere." I said, standing up with my arms open for an embrace. He hugged me warmly and took in my sweet scent.

"Mmm you smell like cherry blossom." He cooed, still snuggling into my hair. I laughed as he continued to inhale.

"Why don't you just take a bite, hmm?" I suggested as I pushed back from him, my hands moved to his collar, pulling him towards me. He laughed lightly and grabbed a handful of my hair.

"I just might, Moira." He warned. I bit my lip. I loved when he was playful like this. He only acted this way around Alfred, Rachel, and me. It was always hard to be around him while he was in the public eye, because he could never be himself. It must be hard to always keep up such an image for his father's company.

"Although, I would suggest brushing it before I have some…" He suggested, walking over to the fridge and taking out a chilled bottle of champagne. I scowled at him as I grabbed two glasses from the cabinet. Alfred chuckled lightly at our playful banter, and started to make lunch for us.

"As you know, I was up last night. I didn't feel like brushing my hair this morning," I retorted, sitting back down on the bar stool, "I have a lot of it, and it takes time."

He shrugged and popped open the bottle. As he poured the champagne, I grabbed two sugar cubes from the jar on the counter, and dropped them in the glasses.

"You are so Italian, you know that?" Bruce observed, taking his glass and walking towards the living room. He knew that was the only way I would drink champagne. It was a little trick my mother showed me. I followed him to the couch, plopping down next to him. I kicked off my shoes and lay back on his chest. He smiled contently as I looked up at him, sipping my drink. He draped his free arm across my stomach, and lightly traced patterns and shapes on it. I sighed.

"Do we really have to meet Rachel today? This is so perfect." I lamented, putting my empty hand on his arm. He looked down at me, and I knew he felt the same way. His hazel eyes had a strange emotion in them, for just a split second.

"I guess I could just go by myself if you want to relax here, and then I could come back?" He offered, eyes brows raised in question. I huffed, obviously unsatisfied with his idea. That's it, it's time to use my seductive voice.

"Can't a simple phone call suffice? How much can you plan anyway, people do it for you." I replied.

He laughed, his hand patting my stomach.

"You won't relent, will you?" He asked, smiling down at me. I took another sip of my alcohol and shook my head 'no'. "Never."

Bruce sighed, defeated.

"Fine. I'll call her after lunch," He complied. I smiled and nuzzled into him more.

I didn't want her ruining my day. He always was put into these weird moods when she was around without Harvey. He would ignore me sometimes, without noticing, but Rachel noticed, and so did I, and she felt bad. We'd share glances and she would try to find a way to get his attention back to me. She was really a good friend, but I preferred when it was her and I alone, without Bruce to ogle her.

I really need to do something about that.


End file.
